Irish Time

Sunday, April 21, 2013

IRELAND A Ray of Anglo Irish Sunshine : Percy French

My introduction to the music of Percy French by Brendan O'Dowda as a child, left a big impression on me. While certainly sad, his music was my ray of sunshine, to rise above the darker side. While many Irish interpreted him as laughing at them, it is clear from the details of his work he was laughing with us. He is also a very bright light from the complex Anglo-Irish heritage. He is still very much loved In Ireland... brian

Percy French From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia, 1 May 1854 – 24 January 1920, born in Cloonyquin House, near Elphin, County Roscommon, the son of an Anglo-Irish landlord is one of Ireland's leading songwriters and is recognised for his watercolour paintings.He was educated at Foyle College, Derry, and wrote his first successful song while studying at Trinity College Dublin in 1877 for a "smoking concert". The song Abdul Abulbul Amir was sold for £5 to an unscrupulous publisher. The song later became hugely popular and was falsely claimed by other authors.

He graduated as a civil engineer in 1881 and joined the Board of Works in County Cavan as an Inspector of Drains. It is said that he wrote his best songs during this period. He also painted: he was a prolific painter of landscape watercolours and during this period considered art to be his true vocation. In fact, when he became well-known later in his life, his paintings from his time as a civil engineer became fashionable and sought after. When the Board reduced its staff around 1887, French turned to journalism as the editor of The Jarvey, a weekly comic paper.[2] When the paper failed, French's long and successful career as a songwriter and entertainer began. Around this time he married Ethel (Ettie) Kathleen Armitage-Moore (b.1871), second daughter of William Armytage-Moore, brother of Countess of Annesley, (wife of the Third Earl). But she (and her daughter) died in childbirth at the age of 20.

He became renowned for composing and singing comic songs and gained considerable distinction with such songs as "Phil the Fluther's Ball", "Slattery's Mounted Foot", and "The Mountains of Mourne". (This last was one of several written with his friend, stage partner and fellow composer, Dr W. Houston Collisson.)[2] But perhaps one of French's most famous songs is "Are Ye Right There Michael", a song ridiculing the state of the rail system in rural County Clare. The song caused such embarrassment to the rail company that it led to a libel action against French, though this ultimately failed. (It is said that French arrived late for the libel hearing at the court, and when questioned by the judge on his lateness, he responded "Your honour, I travelled by the West Clare Railway," resulting in the case being thrown out.)

French took ill while performing in Glasgow and died some days later (from pneumonia) in Formby at the home of his cousin, Canon Richardson of Green Lea, College Avenue on 24 January 1920, aged 65. His grave is to be found in the churchyard of St. Luke's Parish Church, Formby in Merseyside. A statue of him sits on a park bench in the town center of Ballyjamesduff in honour of him and his famous song, "Come back Paddy Reilly to Ballyjamesduff".

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'Celestial Painting (Sunset at Renvyle)' When painters leave this world, we grieve For the hand that will work no more, But who can say that they rest alway On that still celestial shore? No! No! they choose from the rainbow hues, And winging from Paradise, They come to paint, now bold now faint, The tones of our sunset skies. When I see them there I can almost swear That grey is from Whistler's brain! That crimson flush was Turner's brush! And the gold is Claude Lorraine.

A TRIBUTE TO GREATNESS.

What a shame that Brendan O’Dowda is gone,He had a great voice, sure ‘twas second to none.The style of his singin’ for sure it was grand,When he told the stories of Erin’s fair land.

In praise of his talents, let’s say it out loud,The songs of Percy French, sure, he did them proud.With a laugh in his voice he sang the humorous ones,But with tenderness, he sang of Erin’s lost sons.

Of poor ould Irish mothers, whose childer are gone,Their beautiful daughters and fine manly sons.Some who’d emigrated to lands o’er the foam,And some who died for freedom, ne’er to come home.

So let’s keep the mem’ries of Ireland alive,As we struggle along in this world to survive.For many years now sure, people will talk,Of this fine Irish tenor, your man from Dundalk.

John Keogh, Ard File na hEireann, 15th May 2011

Larry Mick McGarry lyrics by Percy French

Oh Larry Mick McGarry,

was a torment in the town,

A lad, a woman glad o'Rut a man would like to drown;

With a smile he would beguile away

A girl from her boy,An' before he got a mile away

He tired of his toy.

CHORUS:-Titheryah the doodle ah

No marryin' for me!

Titheryah the doodle ah

As far as I can see.

Bright by the candle light

An' pourin' out the tea;But yer glad ye lidn't ax her

in the mornin'.

Oh, Larry played , old Harry;

With the girls about the place.

At the dancin' they'd be glancin'

At the features: of his face.

But he never would endeavour

To be lover-like until --.,Mary Carey, she's a fairy,

Had him going like a mill.

CHORUS:Titheryah the 'doodle ah .

He met her in the street,

Titheryah the doodle ahSez he, "Yer lookin' sweet, .:.

A walk an' .:a talk wid ye'

I think would be a treat.But all he got from Mary was

"Good Morning"._

The dancin' down at Clancy's

Brought in all the neighbourhood,

Though the roof wasn't waterproof,

The floor was fairly good,

An' Larry Mick McGarry

He could handle well the leg,

But mary light and airy,Oh, she took him down. a peg.

CHORUS:Titheryah the, doodle ah

She footed it with Flynn

Titheryah the doodle ahAn'all the other min. ..;

But Larry Mick McGarry

Oh! he hadn't a look in

Faith he had to go and find her .'In the morning.

Oh, she taught him till she brought

Up to where she had designed.

Sez Larry, "Will ye marry me!"

Siz she, "I wouldn't mind".He kissed her an' carrissed her

Which is quite the proper .thing

Then together,: hell for leather,

They were off to buy a ring.

CHORUS:Titheryah the doodle ah

"No marrin" sez you.

Titheryah the doodle ah

Ye may escape the 'flu.

Wait till you meet yer mate

An' all there is to doIs to go an' buy the licence In the morning.

Later On lyrics by Percy FrenchWhen we're children at our lessons, it is beautiful to thinkOf the good time that i's coming later on;When we've done with silly copybooks "and 'horrid pens and ink,What a.. lovely time is coming later on!The rivers of New Zealand, the mountains of Peru,The watersheds of Europe, and the tribes of Timbuctoo,All the facts without the fancies, all the tiresome and true,

Will be nowhere in that lovely later on..We'll forget the foolish fables that were written by Fontaine, In the pleasant time that's coming later on;At those twelve times twenty 'tables we will never look again, In the lazy time that's coming later on;The date of Magna Carta, the plot they called "the Rye,"The counties that are bounded by the Humber and the Wye,We may not quite forget them, but we mean to have a tryIn the lazy time that's coming later on.

Oh' my optimistic hero, there are lessons you must learn,
In the queer time that is coming later on;
And the masters and examiners you'll find at every turn,
In the hard times that are coming later on.
Miss Fortune is a governess who'll teach you many things,
A tutor called Experience will moderate your flings,
You'll learn how men make money, and you'll learn that it has wings
In the strange times that are coming later on.

Then you'll meet the radiant vision who is all the world to you (You'll attend her mother's lectures later on);
You'll learn that what's enough for one is not enough for two,
Nor enough for half-a-dozen later on.
No, the work is never ended, though for holidays you crave,
There are pop-guns to be mended for the Robbers in the Cave.
You fancy you're the master, but you find that you're a slave
To a curly-headed tyrant later on.

And so through all your lifetime you are longing for the day,
The lovely day that's coming later on;
When pens and ink and copybooks will all be laid away,
And that day is surely coming later on.
For when you're really tired, having done your level best,
When the story's nearly ended, and the sun sets in the West,
Then you'll lie down very gently, and the weary will find rest,
And I fancy we'll deserve it -- later on.

Later on, later on,
Oh what many friends have gone,
Sweet lips that smiled and loving eyes that shone
Through the darkness into light,
One by one they've winged their flight And perhaps we'll play together —later on.

Little Bridget Flynn lyrivs by Percy French

I've a nice slated house and, a. cow or two at grass,

I've a plant garden running by ,the door;I've a shelter for the hens and. a stable for.,the ass,..,

And what: can a man want more.I dunno; maybe so,And °a bachelor is , easy and he's free,But I've plenty to look after,And I'm living all alone,And there's no one looking after me.

Me father often tells me I should go and have a try,

To get a girl that owns a bit of land;I know the way he says it that there's.; someone; in his eye

And me mother has the., whole thing. planned;I dunno, maybe so, .,,

And 'twould mellify them greatly to -agree,But there's' little Brigid Flynn, " Sure its her I want to win,

Though she never throws an eye on me.

Oh! There's a little girl who is worth her weight in gold'

An' that's a dacent dowry don't you see;

And I mean to go and ax her as soon as I get bold,If she'll come and have an eye to me.

I dunno — will she go,But I'd like to have her sitting on me knee,

And I'd sing like a thrush,On a hawthorn bushIf she'll come and have an eye to me.

My Darlin' Girl From Clare lyrics by Percy French

We were sittin' on the wall upon a Sunday

To watch the girls go by,And thinkin' we'd be marrit to one one day,

When Kate Flynn caught our eye.Oh, man! she was the makin's of a fairy,

And it made each boyo swear,"There's not one girl in the wide, wide world

Like the girl from the County Clare!"

CHORUS:And ev'ry man had got the finest plan

You ever see now — barrin' me now,

Ev'ry day there's one of them would say

That she'll agreed now — you'll see now;

All night they'd fight,As to which o' them was right,In the colour of her eyes and hair,But not a word from me was ever heard,

About the darlin' girl from Clare!

Says Casey: "Tis the father I'll be plazin',

I'll tell him of the land I've tilled,I'll tell him of the cattle I have grazin'

And the house I mean to build;And whin he sees the arable' and `pasture'

And the fat stock feedin' there,An' the hens an' the chickens,Ye may go to the dickensFor the girl from the County Clare."

CHORUS:
So every man had got the finest plan

Ye ever see now— barrin' me now,

Ev'ry day there's one of them would say

That she'll agree now —you'll see now.

Says I to meself
Though I haven't got the pelf,
Of brass I've got my share,
And so I know the way they ought to go

About the darlin' girl from Clare."

Says Sweeney,"she'll be coming to the shop here

To buy some sort of thing,
I'll ax her if she has a mind to stop there,

And should I buy the ring:
An' whin she sees the curtains on the windas,

An' the clock on the stair
Keepin' time to the minit,
No one else will be in it
With the darlin' girl from Clare!"
CHORUS:

So every man had got the finest plan
Ye ever see now — barrin' me now,
Ev'ry day there's one of them would say,

That she'll agree now — you'll see now;

Thinks I "ye may stop

Till yer dead in yer shop,

An' not a hair she'll care, Wid all yer gold
Yell never hold a hold
Upon the darlin' girl from Clare."

I never said a single word about her,

But I met the girl that day,
I told her I could never live widout her,

An' what had she to say?
She said that I might go and see her father:

I met him then and there,
An' in less than an hour
We war fightin' for the dower
Of the darlin' girl from Clare!

CHORUS:
So ev'ry man had got the finest plan

Ye ever see now — barrin' me now,

Ev'ry day there's one of them would say

That she'll agree now — you'll see now;
But late last night
When the moon was bright
I axed her if she'd share
Me joy an' me sorra' -
An' begorra! on to-morro'
I'll be married to the girl from Clare!

Eileen Oge Lyrics by

or the Pride of Petravore)Eileen G Oge! an that the darlin's name is,Through the Barony her features they were famous;

If we loved her who was there to blame us,

For wasn't she the Pride of Petravore?

But her beauty made us all so shy,

Not a man could look her in the eye,

Boys, 0 boys! sure that's the reason why

We're moumin' for the Pride of Petravore.

CHORUS:Eileen Oge! me heart is growin' greyEver since the day you wandered far away;

Eileen Oge! there's good fish in the say,But there's no one like the Pride of Petravore.

Friday at the fair of Ballintubber,Eileen met McGrath the cattle jobber,I'd like to set me mark upon the robber,For he stole away the Pride of Petravore.He never seem'd to see the girl at all,Even when she ogled him underneath her shawl,

Lookin' big and masterful when she was lookin' small,

Most provoking for the Pride of Petravore.

CHORUS:So it went as it was in the beginning,Eileen Oge was bent upon the winning;Big McGrath contentedly was grinning,Being courted by the Pride of Petravore.Sez he "I know a girl that could knock you into fits."

At that Eileen nearly lost her wits,The upshot of the ruction was that now the robber sits

With his arm around the Pride of Petravore.CHORUS:

Boys, 0 Boys! with fate 'tis hard to grapple,Of my eye 'tis Eileen was the apple,And now to see her walkin' to the ChapelWid the hardest featured man in Petravore.Now boys this is all I have to say;When you do your courtin' make no display,If you want them to run after you just walk the other way,

For they're mostly like the Pride of Petravore.CHORUS:

Rafferty's Racin' Mare lyrics by Percy French

You've not seen Rafferty round this way?He's a man with a broken hat,His tie and his collar are all gone astrayAnd his coat for the matter o' that!

We're racin' Rafferty round the placeSince Rafferty raced his mare,He's a man with an anxious look on his faceAnd a partially murdered air!

For backin' the racin' mare."We thanked him then and there,And every lad in BallinafadWent backin' the racin' mare.I was the jockey they chose to ride -And often the owner he swareThat there wasn't a leap in the world too wide

To baffle the racin' mare.Over hurdle and ditch she went like a witch,Till she came where the water shoneI gave her her head, but she stopped at it dead:She stopped — and I went on!CHORUS:

Oh! Rafferty's racin' mare

I whirtled through the airLike a beautiful bird, but never a word

From Rafferty's racin' mare!

Oh! Rafferty's racin' mare -

The boys cried out "take care!"I took all I could, but it wasn't much good

To me or the racin' mare.

"Get up, you lad," says Ballinafad,"You'll win the race for us yet."But I didn't care for the look of the mare,Nor the way that her legs were set.Says they: "The horse'll stay the course,She'll stay it — ivery foot.""You're right," says I — "I don't denyShe'll stay just where she's put."

CHORUS:

Oh! Rafferty's racin' mare!

We danced around her there,With stones and sticks, and bits o' bricks

We hit her fare and square.

Oh! Rafferty's racin' mare!

The field they leapt it there,But on the brink she'd stand and --- drink,

Would Rafferty's racin' mare.

But where was Rafferty all the time?

Oh! Rafferty! he's the lad.There in the ring — he stood like a king,

Cheerin' the mare like mad.His brother was there, disguised, of course,

As a Roosian millionaire;Giving the odds against every horseAnd the longest against the mare.

CHORUS:

Oh! Rafferty's racin' mare!'Twas more than we could bear,When a bookie revealedhe was backin' the field,Instead of the racin' mare.We've got the day to spare,We've got the millionaire;And we're havin' a race around the place,

Little Mary Ann Mulcahy,For ever since the dayThat Phil he came a whistlin',

She stands in the doorwayAn' she's waitin' an' she's lishnin'.CHORUS:Oh ! Mary you're contrary Come in and shut., the door;

Phil's a rover, sure 'tis over,And he'll not come back, asthore.

But she's lishnitf for the whistlin'

And she's waitin' by the shore,

For that arrun warrum

Round her waist once more.

There's Thady of the Cows,Sure you know "Ten-acre Thady,"

Wid his fine new slated house

He'd make her quite a lady.But Thady needn't stay,And there's no use his inthragin'.

For her heart is far away'Tis wid Phil McHugh stravagin'.

CHORUS:

There's Danny Michael Dan,

Who is six fut in his stockin's,

A very proper man,But she never heeds his knockin's.

She'll keep him standin' there

For three quarthers of a minit,

But she's racin' like a hareWhen she thinks that Phil is in it.

CHORUS:

'Tis wisdom's golden rule

I do teach her till I tire,

That every girl's a fool,

Ay, and every man's a liar.

What's that you say you hear,

What's set you all a thrimbly? '

Tis but the wind, I fear,That is whistlin' down the chimbly.

CHORUS:

Oh! Mary you're contrary,Come in and bar the door;

What's that scufflin'?Phil, you ruffian!Sure I knew he'd come, asthore.

She's been settin' there and frettin

But now her grievin's o'er;And the singin' will be ringin'

In her heart once more!

Fighting McGuire lyrics by Percy French

Now. Giibbon has told the story of old,Of the Fall of the Roman Empire,But I would recall the rise an' the fallOf a man of the name of McGuire.he came to our town as a man of renown,And peace was, he said, his desire,Still he'd frequently state what would be the sad fate

Of the man who molested McGuire.

Well, we all were afraid of this quarrelsome blade,

An' we told him to draw near the fire,An' laughed at his jest, tho' it wasn't the best,

An' swore there's no man like McGuire.An' when he came up with the neighbours to sup,

His friendliness all would admire

And he'd have the best bed, for we'd sleep in the shed,

for fear of insulting McGuire.

But Macgilligan's Dan — who's a rale fightin' man,Said: "Of all this tall talkin I tire,

I'll step in an see whyever should heBe called always Fightin' McGuire,

I'll step in and say, in a casual way,That I think he's a thief an' a liar.Then I'll hit him a clout, and unless I misdoubt,That's a way of insulting McGuire."

Then onward he strode to McGuire's abode,

His glorious eye shootin' fire,An' we thought as he passed we had all looked our

On the man who. insulted McGuire;Then we listened with grief while we heard him called thief

An' abused as a rogue an' a liar;Oh! we all held our breath, for we knew it was death

He's been kilt out an' out be McGuire!Then out like a thrush from a hawthorn bush

Came something in tattered attire,And after it fled the man we thought dead

The man who malthreated McGuire.

'Twas Macgilligan's son, the victory won,An' we crowded around to admireThe bowld-hearted boy who was first to destroyThe Yoke of the Tyrant McGuire.An' altho' it's not true, we all said that we knewFrom the first he was only a liar,An' we'd all had a mind to attach — from behindThat cowardly scoundrel — McGuire.

The Oklahoma Rose lyrics by Percy French

All round de moon clouds are hangin' high an' hazy;

On de lagoon moonbeams are lyin' lazy.Dat's when dis coon's g'wine to meet ma Maisie,

I still can play with ma doll securely,For dis ain't' de time to spoon."But when de sun am sinkin her eyes begin a winkin'An den I know she's thinkin' of dis yer colour 'd coon.Oh! ain't I glad I found her. In love chains I have bound her.Her face is rather 'rounder — it's rounder dan de moon.

THE FOUR FARRELLYSIn a small hotel in London I was sitting down to dine.When the waiter brought the register and asked me if I'd sign.And as I signed I saw a name that set my heart astir —A certain "Francis Farrelly" had signed the registerI knew a lot of Farrellys and out of all the crewI kept on "sort of wonderin' " which Farrelly were you.And when I'd finished dinner I sat back in my chair,Going round my native land to find, what Farelly you were.

SOUTH

Were you the keen-eyed Kerryman I met below Kenmare,Who told me that when Ireland fought "the odds were never fair?"If Cromwell had met Sarsfield, or Owen Roe O'Neill,It's not to Misther Gladstone we'd be lookin' for repeal.Would have Ireland for the Irish, not a Saxon to be seen,And only Gaelic spoken in that House in College Green.

Told me landlords wor the Divil! their agints ten times worst,.And iv'ry sort of government for Ireland was a curse!Oh! if you're that Francis Farrelly, your dreams have not come true,Still, Slainthe! Slainthe! Fransheen! for I like a man like you!

NORTH

Or were you the Francis Farrelly that often used to sayHe'd like to blow them Papishes from Derry walls away?The boy who used to bother me that Orange Lodge to join,And thought that history started with the Battle o' the Boyne —I was not all with ye, Francis, the Pope is not ma friend,But still I hope, poor man, he'll die without that bloody end. -And when yer quit for care yerself, and get to Kingdom Come,It's not use teachin' you the harp — you'll play the Orange drum!Och! man, ye wor a fighter, of that I had no doubt.For I see ye in Belfast one night when the Antrim Road was out!And many a time that evenin' I thought that ye wor dead,The way them Papish pavin' stones was hoppin' off yer head.Oh! if you're the Francis Farrelly who came from North Tyrone -Here's lookin' to ye, Francis, but do leave the Pope alone!

EAST

Or were you the Francis Farrelly that in my college daysFor strollin on the Kingstown Pier had such a curious craze?D'y mind them lovely sisters — the blonde and the brunette?I know I've not forgotten, and I don't think you forget!That picnic at the Dargle —' and the others at the Scalp —How my heart was palpitatin' — hers wasn't — not a palp!Someone said ye married money — any maybe ye were wise,But the gold you loved was in her hair, and the d'monds in her eyes!So I like to think ye married her and that you're with her yet,'Twas some "meleesha" officer that married the brunette;But the blonde one always loved ye, and I knew you loved her too,So me blessin's on ye, Francis, and the blue sky over you!

WEST

Or were you the Francis Farrelly I met so long ago,In the bog below Belmullet, in the County of Mayo?That long-legged, freckled Francis with the deep-set, wistful eyes,That seemed to take their colour from those ever-changing skies,That put his flute together as I sketched the distant scene,And played me "Planxy Kelly and the "Wakes of Inniskeen."That told me in the Autumn he'd be Bailin' to the WestTo try and make his fortune and send money to the rest.And would I draw a picture of the place where he was born,And he'd hang it up, and look at it, and not feel so forlorn.And when I had it finished, you got up from where you sat,And you said, "Well, you're the Divil, and I can't say more than that."Oh' if you're that Francis Farrelly, your fortune may be small,But I'm thinking — thinking —Francis, that I love you best of all;And I never can forget you — though it's years and years ago -In the bog below BeImullet, in the County of Mayo.

279 × 245 - percyfrench.org

A Lecture given by Berrie O’Neillof the Percy French Society at the Second InternationalPercy French Summer Schoolat Castlecoote House, Castlecoote, Co.Roscommon,17th July 2010.

When I reflect on what I call my journey with Percy French it sometimes appears to me that in the matter of promoting appreciation of Percy French some outside invisible force is at work – just when we in our Percy French Society in North Down began a focus on the more literary side of Percy French up pops this Summer School and then a few months ago a lecture at St Patrick’s College in Dublin looked at ‘Comic Scenes of Edwardian Ireland: Somerville & Ross and Percy French’. – putting Percy French in the context of more established Irish literary figures I hesitate to think that Percy French himself in some unearthly form but still with a metaphorical twinkle in his eye may be orchestrating these events. but some mysterious experiences are on record. Doors opening unexpectedly during concerts, pictures of Percy French falling from display almost on cue and so on. On one occasion, while preparing the Samuel Beckett Theatre at Trinity College, Dublin for a performance by our Percy French Concert Party, our talented director, Wilfie Pyper while taking a breather in College Park came upon a student dancing towards him while singing Percy French’s very tuneful melody The Oklahoma Rose – It is a song certainly not to be found in the normal student’s repertoire or in the hit parade of the day.
So in responding to Kevin Finnerty’s invitation to speak here today I may be just another part of some heavenly conspiracy!

In the early eighties I was manager of a bank in Belfast – and among my customers was one Oscar Rollins……………. (these were the days when Bank Managers were identifiable and when some people liked them!)

Oscar Rollins, a business man and a councillor in the Borough of North Down had as a young man been impressed by Percy French’s famous recitation the Four Farrellys. As you may know in this well known recitation Percy French is reflecting with humour and pathos about the common humanity shared by 4 very different individuals with the same name, Francis Farrelly. They represented, shall we say, a variety of Irishnesses

50 years later, on a golf trip to Lancashire, an unplanned coming upon the grave of Percy French in Formby was a life changing experience for Oscar Rollins. It turned out to be on Percy French’s birthday and an unknown admirer had left a bunch of bluebells in a simple but moving tribute. Oscar Rollins became acutely aware that here was a great Irishman lying almost forgotten away from the land of his birth. The experience ignited within Oscar Rollins a crusading determination to make the name and works of Percy French properly appreciated in Ireland and to establish a permanent collection of his life‘s works.

Oscar’s belief in his mission and his naked determination had him bring together to North Down at the outset such inspiring characters as Percy French’s daughters, Ettie and Joan French, the famous tenor Brendan O’Dowda, the local mayor, Albert Magee (now our president), an enthusiastic BBC TV producer of Percy French material, Alan Tongue and believe it or not his bank manager – a kind of life changing experience for him also!

I was unable to handout the exorbitant amount of money that Oscar and his cohorts felt that his bank should subscribe towards a museum location to honour Percy French and I suggested, that he formalise a Percy French Society and trying to avoid damaging a valued customer relationship I added lamely and fatefully that I might give a hand with such a creation. A society followed in 1983 – guess who was treasurer and chief fund raiser?

In addition to being a man before his time in the promotion of Percy French it can be seen, in the context of recent banking revelations, that Oscar was also 30 years ahead of his time in seeking a very large amount of money from his bank without any strings or other pay back!

Anyway with the strong backing of North Down Borough Council and a number of commercial sponsors there followed a ground-breaking 8 day Festival with some 40 events. It was directed by Alan Tongue and made a huge impact in the North Down and Belfast area, I found myself gradually becoming more and more drawn into the story of Percy French and in the fate of the Society and I have covered many miles in a journey with Percy French ever since those exciting days…..

Nowadays, 27 years later in North Down Oscar Rollins has departed, as Percy French might say, to Kingdom Come and we have an active Society with a membership of 200 + 60 enthusiastic ‘Friends’ from further afield. We have regular concerts, monthly dinners and musical evenings. There have been many exhibitions and festivals. Our quarterly newsletter reaches some of you in Roscommon and also enjoys a small but enthusiastic readership in USA, Canada, New Zealand, Holland and Australia.

The Percy French Collection

But In terms of achieving our founder’s ambitious and optimistic objectives, most important of all is what we call the Percy French Collection. We have amassed some 90 watercolours and approx. 600/700 pieces of other memorabilia

Much of this magnificent archive was donated by Percy French’s daughters and other family connections but it also includes other significant bequests and a number of paintings purchased by our Society. The archive reflects the extraordinarily varied and versatile output of Percy French as poet, journalist, watercolorist, songwriter and entertainer – all illustrating a huge range of artistic, musical and literary talents. To these can be added a subsidiary list of other abilities and accomplishments as engineer, composer, parodist, humorist, banjoist, tennis aficionado and cycling enthusiast.

This Percy French Collection which is cared for by the North Down Museum in Bangor will be our bequest to posterity and will hopefully encourage and help sustain other developments like this exciting Summer School. It is a wonderful insight to the life and times of Percy French – it is also a store of social history and above all a monument to our founder, Oscar Rollins.

Here I should mention a major project carried out by our Society led by David McShane. That has been the cleaning and conservation treatment of the 80/90 watercolors in the collection by specialist conservators at Marsh’s Library Dublin – an expensive project which was 90% funded by the Heritage Lottery Fund with a grant of £40,000.

I must mention here that
It really is astonishing that a hugely researched publication like The Encyclopaedia of Ireland fails to mention that Percy French was an outstanding watercolorist.

I should also mention that the said Oscar Rollins himself had for long owned a large Percy French watercolour entitled ‘Evening in Achill’ in which he took much pride. Achill was Percy French’s “Island of my Dreams” -

Here some verses….. read by Gladys O’Neill

Having established contact with Percy French’s homeland here in Roscommon some 20 years ago Oscar presented this painting to Father Beirne for the Strokestown Heritage Centre – a gesture typically made in the spirit of Percy French and demonstrating that Oscar took a wide and far reaching view of his mission.

MAIN FOCUS TODAY

I would like to focus today is on Percy French the writer, journalist and poet. This literary aspect of his talent has not as yet had anything like the study and research and understanding that it deserves and I note with satisfaction Father Beirne’s mention of it in his greeting printed in the excellent brochure for the Summer School.

Percy French was involved in creative writing from an early age – with other family members he produced the handwritten, hand illustrated and tongue in cheek, Tulsk Morning Howl – Tulsk of course being the nearest village / parish to Cloonyquin . Later they provided a more comprehensive and equally amusingly named Trombone of Truth – these titles suggesting perhaps that journalism was no less loud and aggressive then than at the present time!

At Trinity College Dublin in the 1870s he had acquired a banjo and with the Russian/Turkish war in full swing he wrote the famous song Abdallah Bulbul Ameer for a smoking concert. He imagined a duel between a brave but truculent Russian count and a heroic but sensitive Turkish gentleman.

Now sung by NORMAN CAIRNS with banjo

This song would travel far and indeed became the party piece of General Dwight D. Eisenhower

The banjo became an ever present feature of Percy French the entertainer for the rest of his life and Norman Cairns has brought that essential and colourful aspect of Percy French to our Society for many years.

Just to illustrate the vital importance of the banjo in French’s career it is recorded that after his unexpected appointment as Inspector of Loans to Tenants in Co Cavan in 1873 he prepared for the heavy demands and responsibilities ahead – he went out and bought a tennis racket and some spare strings for his banjo!

Actually he had been about to emigrate to Canada before his Cavan appointment and taking his usual amused look at his new job he wrote in humorous verse

The Inspector of Drains. – here a verse or two from Gldys O’Neill

In Cavan as ‘Inspector of Drains’ he developed a passion for cycling using the most up to date bicycles and tricycles. It was an interest that enabled him to contribute articles for the Irish Cyclist magazine – here again we note his propensity for writing and journalism

THE JARVEY YEARS

And so when after five well paid years his post as Inspector of Drains in Cavan was dispensed with his writings for The Irish Cyclist and Athlete led to him being made editor of a new comic weekly published in Dublin. It was called The Jarvey. This was in the years 1888/90. Despite its clever content and high quality artistic illustrations it failed to achieve sufficient sales to overcome the very strong competition, undeservedly lasting only two years. Interestingly Michael D. Higgins last year mentioned the then fashion of English products being sought after to the detriment of equally good or even more authentic things produced in Ireland.
Anyway shortage of cash and profit meant that by necessity he was unable to pay other contributors and he had to write much of the material himself for The Jarvey.

The only remaining full set of 104 original issues of The Jarvey is kept in the National Library of Ireland in Dublin – in fragile condition they are not available to the public. Some 10 years ago our Society in North Down purchased a CD Rom of the 104 issues from the Library and with help from the National Lottery we have succeeded through modern computer technology and immense effort by my colleague, David McShane, to have the 104 issues of THE JARVEY splendidly repaired and reproduced in facsimile style. Now In pristine condition without tears, stains or other marks these have been bound into 10 volumes embellished with gold embossed lettering . One set has been formally presented for public access and research to the same National Library of Ireland. A further set has been given to Belfast’s famous Linenhall Library and our association with these two great institutions must surely enhance our desire to have the literary importance of Percy French more fully recognised

Last year Michael D. Higgins also made the point that in addition to tribute and celebration there are many themes to be explored and studied in historical and cultural terms by this and future summer schools. Personally I am intensely interested in the complications and nuances of local and social history rather than the more simplistic versions often emerging on a national scale. For instance Michael mentioned the many varied gradations in Irish Society in post famine Ireland, a context in which Percy French can perhaps be seen to cast a more realistic light than the more romantic and simplistic landlord/peasant society espoused by Yeats and Lady Gregory

In our Percy French Society in North Down we had amongst our members at one time the late and learned Derek Collie from that much under estimated town of Ballymena. His knowledge of the local geography, topography, social history and culture of all of Ireland was exceptional by any standards – mention any town land or village in any part of Ireland and Derek would immediately reveal the most detailed picture of its history and landscape….. I am pleased to quote Derek: “Percy French had an acute ear for the local idiom – an ability not given to all great poets – patterns of speech and thought revealing the character and expression of the people”.
Derek compared Percy French to the fine English novelist, George Eliot and to Ireland’s famed Myles na Gopaleen.

This is a long way from one of the old criticisms directed at Percy French that his work was ‘stage Irish’.

Apart from Percy French’s self taught ability as an artist the remainder of his many talents can to some extent at least be encompassed by an exceptional ability to use words – his abilities as songwriter, poet, author, journalist and humorist can be understood and enjoyed because of his way with words – sometimes poignant or sometimes comic but always colourful. His eldest daughter, Ettie, (herself an accomplished entertainer under her professional name, Ettie Percy French) has summed up her father’s basic key to greatness under the heading of his exceptional ability as a ‘wordsmith’ -
In the poem/song ‘An Emigrant’s Letter’ for instance he combines poignant metaphor with typical west of Ireland understatement as “the waves hid the last bit of ould Donegal’ and the young emigrant lad with tears in his eyes says to his friend “I think the salt wather’s got into me head” – I feel that the understatement makes the line even more powerful and more poignant

Many of French’s best loved songs such as the Emigrant’s Letter and Gortnamona are of course poems put to music by other composers and collaborators. It often seems as if an inherent musicality in the poem demands to be formalised. Take for instance the not very well known Road to Ballybay — first as a poem

GLADYS O’Neill recites…

“Is this the road to Ballybay?” sez I to Miss Magee,
“You’re leaving it behind you” sez Mary Ann to me
So I turned and walked beside her, and ‘tis only fair to say,
It was very pleasant walking on the road to Ballybay.

and then with music composed by Percy French’s musically gifted daughter, Mollie

NORMAN CAIRNS repeats the song.

In these lines the poet is reflecting wistfully on and describing a youthful memory of boy and girl in the early and playful stages of getting to know one another.

Hiberno English according to Terence Patrick Dolan in his ‘Dictionary of Hiberno-English’ is the language in which Irish people have for long communicated on a day-to-day basis.
The native Irish brought emphases from the Irish language in its structure, pronunciation and musicality to the English language and with a mixture of old English and more modern English combined with borrowings and phonetic translations from the Irish language created an almost new language – Hiberno English

Indeed many of the words picked up and recorded by Percy French as spoken are from old Elizabethan English introduced and kept alive here – there is a reference in the poem Ach I Dunno ‘To ax for my hand’ and from The Emigrant’s Letter ‘ … ‘And Katie forninst me a wettin’ the tay’ . In the song McBreen’s Heifer there is mention of Jamesy O’Burn being in a horrid ‘namplush’ – much more descriptive of his mathematical dilemma I feel than the the French/English ‘Non Plus’

And according to the Oxford Companion to Irish literature: “Percy French’s songs have an alluring appeal and charm because of their affectionate use of Hiberno-English and a satiric edge”

Here again there is emphasis on the words of Percy French’s songs which I personally believe are best delivered in such a manner. I am also happy to note the word ‘affectionate’ describing his use of Hiberno-English – clearly he loved the language as spoken and recorded it as he heard it.

It is also important in my opinion to note the reference to what is described as a ‘satiric edge’ -

I believe that much of French’s work, what is commonly known as his ‘comic songs’, has a satirical quality albeit a gentle but probing one. Percy French was himself the most self effacing of men and it seems to me that in his songs he often deflated the pompous or pretentious or looked beneath what Michael D. Higgins colorfully described last year as the ‘layers of pretension’ that were evident in the growing acquisitive and property owning society that was emerging from the land clearances .

Humour I think is an essential part of the understanding and appreciation of Percy French – he puts people and events into a more realistic and down to earth perspective through his sense of the absurdities and frailties of human nature —- Again reflecting on a point made by Michael D. Higgins last year that in the society that was emerging in 19th Century Ireland seriousness was the appropriate presentation of self and family. For instance Percy French’s song The Night that Miss Cooney Eloped . (Sung by Norman Cairns)

Sometimes the satirical or the ironic emerges in Percy French’s parodies – Around 1890 for instance the appointment by Queen Victoria of one of her Lord Lieutenants, Lord Zetland, to represent her in Ireland was an opportunity for some down-to-earth satirical poking of fun. Percy French imagines the Queen giving advice to the Lord Lieutenant about how he might behave in his new job in Ireland. This French relates in the Dublin idiom as if it was overheard by an Irish waiter, Larry Flynn, who happened, if you don’t mind, to be eavesdropping on the conversation, ………

The Queen’s Advice – (Gladys O’Neill)

Grace Neill’s pub cum restaurant in Donaghadee, Co Down is aged 400 years – it is the oldest inn in Ireland. I was delighted to find that a more recent extension has its large beams imprinted with the names of 4 famous Irishmen, James Joyce, W.B.Yeats, Oscar Wilde and for my delight …wait or it……Percy French! The owner or architect must have had a deep understanding of the major 19th century figures in Irish literary history. Never mind that Shaw, Synge and Beckett were not included!

I suspect that an academic study of Percy French and all his writings can be as enlightening as the study of James Joyce – Indeed I should mention that there are a number of mentions of Percy French songs in Joyce’s Finnegan’s Wake.

it is my belief that Percy French has a right to be included and it is the object of all Percy French Societies and this summer school to make the tribute that is set at Grace Neill’s pub in Donaghadee more commonplace in the Ireland of today.

(In case any of you get to Donaghadee Grace Neill’s is no mean establishment – Welcomed such famous figures as Peter the Great of Russia, composer Franz Liszt and, more recently, singer Tina Turner. At the shortest point between Scotland and Ireland the inn opened in 1611 as the King’s Arms. It was renamed in honour of a famous proprietor Grace Neill who is said to have welcomed her customers with a kiss between puffs on her clay pipe.) I used to wonder were the clay pipes made here in Roscommon but I discovered recently that there was once a clay pipe factory in the centre of Belfast – so it is maybe they were of unionist/protestant manufacture!

Today we cannot touch on everything that caused Irish and Belfast- born novelist, George Bermingham to write:

‘The genius of Percy French as entertainer, artist and author was a national asset, and the fact that his words and phrases had become family bywords was a mark of real greatness’ -

Again I draw attention to the focus by George Bermingham on Percy French’s ‘words and phrases’

Adding to that is the comment of Walter Love of BBC NORTHERN IRELAND who speaks of Percy French’s songs and gentle humour bringing timeless qualities of colour and rhythm. I am thinking here of the colour and rhythm of the railway, its uneven movement and of the conversations recorded in the famous ‘Are ye Right there Michael? and of the colour and rhythm of the song ‘Sweet Marie’ conveying the movement of the horse at the races as mentioned by Michael D. Higgins last year.

NORMAN CAIRNS sings ‘Sweet Marie’

Sweet Marie was in fact a parody on an American musical hall song – parodying being a major ingredient of Percy French’s humour and creativity.

As I have said we have not touched on very many other fascinating aspects of Percy French – his short plays and sketches, his many years as an Edwardian entertainer in London, his ability to relate to children, his collaboration with his great friend and classical musician, Dr William Houston Collisson – their comic operas, their joint entertainment ‘Humours of Art and Music’ that travelled from the London stage to Canada, USA and West Indies, their activities in the winter sports centres of Switzerland

But at all costs we must not appear to be too earnest or solemn in our analysis – Even in his own kind of epitaph – written in the visitor’s book at Glenveagh Castle in Donegal you find a touch of the ironic

Remember me is all I ask,
And yet, if the remembrance prove a task – Forget!

I started by recounting the vision and inspiration of our founder, Oscar Rollins.
A new mantle of vision and drive has now been assumed by Kevin Finnerty inspired as he is by by his father, John and the Flanagan family of Cloonyquin. Now what interests me there is the Cloonyquin side – this gives the summer school the most authentic of foundations — and there are others like Michael J. Cunnane and the late Seamus De Nash from the homeland of Percy French who have also kept alive the honoring of Percy French. To give further authenticity to this summer school is the fact that the very first Percy French Festivals were held at Cloonyquin House in 1957/58. We in North Down have performed minor miracles of our own but after 27 years these initiatives by Kevin Finnerty, so strongly mirrored by Richie Farrell of Roscommon Library and by the Co. Roscommon Percy French Society present an outcome that we in the Percy French Society welcome as an important enhancement of what has gone before

The school has emerged at the right time and more importantly in the right place – the home land of Percy French.

Finally it is surely the ultimate tribute to Percy French that there is a spirit of friendship and goodwill that pervades all activities and meetings. On his gravestone in the said Formby can be read the following quotation “Write me as one who loved his fellow men”. I believe that Percy French, his life and extraordinary prolific output adds a very special dimension to our understanding of our various Irishnesses

His life and the breadth of his literary, musical and artistic output is best articulated by the poet, Katherine Tynan: “Percy French was so versatile, so extraordinarily accomplished in such a variety of ways, so sensitive to human and natural appeals, that one must think of him as having a touch of that quality by which talent is dull, the quality of genius … he was incapable of vulgarity: and he had a unique gift of making his audiences love him”.

Berrie O’Neill, North Down Percy A Lecture given by Berrie O’Neillof the Percy French Society at the Second InternationalPercy French Summer School